by M J Knight
Reborn
In
Blue
M.J Knight
Copyright © 2020 by M.J Knight
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]
FIRST EDITION
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Copyright @ 2020 M.J Knight
First publication: June 22nd, 2020
Cover art: Lauren Nicole Sanatra (eBook)/ Crimson Sun(paperback)
Editing: Mollie Barragan, Paula Smith
Formatting: M.J Knight
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by M.J Knight
Dedication
Author Note
Trigger Warning
Prologue
Chapter One: Ayida
Chapter Two: Holder
Chapter Three: Ayida
Chapter Four: Fletcher
Chapter Five: Clint
Chapter Six: Ayida
Chapter Seven: Clint
Chapter Eight: Holder
Chapter Nine: Cole
Chapter Ten: Ayida
Chapter Eleven: Fletcher
Chapter Twelve: Ayida
Chapter Thirteen: Cole
Chapter Fourteen: Ayida
Chapter Fifteen: Clint
Chapter Sixteen: Clint
Chapter Seventeen: Holder
Chapter Eighteen: Ayida
Chapter Nineteen: Ayida
Chapter Twenty: Fletcher
Chapter Twenty-One: Ayida
Chapter Twenty-Two: Cole
Chapter Twenty-Three: Fletcher
Chapter Twenty-Four: Ayida
Chapter Twenty-Five: Holder
Chapter Twenty-Six: Ayida
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Holder
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Ayida
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Clint
Chapter Thirty: Ayida
Epilogue
Soundtrack
About the Author
Dedication
I have so many people to thank, and this book is dedicated to all of them. So, I'm going to start at the beginning...
My mom and dad. They have been gone a combined 19 years, but the time I did have with them molded me into who I am today. They believed in me and pushed me to do whatever I wanted in life. They also gave me plenty of stories to tell.
Next, I want to thank my husband for putting up with my ranting and raving. For taking care of 5 kids after coming home from working all day to give me time to write. He has been my champion through all of this.
The next person I want to thank is someone I've never met. Mollie Barragan is the kindest most supportive person I have ever known. She is also an amazing editor, and the best sounding board. I don't think this book would have made it without her. She started off as a stranger and turned into an awesome friend. She also brought in a bunch of awesome beta readers that helped develop my book into what it is now.
Paula Smith. My sista from anotha mista! Thank you for believing in me and pining for the guys before anyone even knew their names. You are the original reader, and the first person I trusted with my idea. Me and you. Margaritas and pizza- June 22nd!
Annamarie, Jacqueline, Ashley, Hope. Y'all are the real MVPs. The feedback and support pushed me through when I was unsure if I should keep going. I love y'all!
To the authors: M.J Marstens, Crystal Ash, Katie May, Kathryn Moon and A.J Macey. Y'all's books inspired me long before the thought of writing bloomed in my brain. Without women like y'all to talk to, and look up to, I would have never even given a second thought to writing my own book. Y'all are rock stars!
Thank you finally to my Facebook group members and friends. For doing my silly polls and laughing with me at memes. Playing the games and participating in takeovers. I hope y'all enjoy my book baby. It's my heart in ink and I have never been so happy to have finger cramps!
Laissez le bon temps rouler!
Let the good times roll!
Author Note
This book is written in informal language to make the character’s more appropriate for their everyday speech. There will be slang, swearing, and purposely misspelled words to help phonetically set the tone of the storyteller.
If you spot an error or typo that you feel should be corrected, that does not fit the tongue /person’s style and manner of speaking, please do not report this to Amazon. I am happy to look into potential corrections if you would care to drop me a quick email at: [email protected]
Trigger Warning
This book contains graphic violent scenes: including past physical and emotional abuse, close calls with rape and mentions of previous violations, PTSD, and bloody deaths.
There is also strong language, sexual situations including BDSM, and a why choose relationship.
Prologue
The feeling of the wooden pole cracking his soft back, had me giggling in pure joy. The asshole had tortured me for half a decade, and I was over being scared. Have you ever been so mad at someone you imagine using the Jaws of Life on their actual jaws? Ripping their skull off and using it as an ashtray for your after-sex cigarette with a man that can actually give a real orgasm... Just me?
I was a woman possessed after being pushed into doors and dressers and having phones and half-empty beer bottles thrown at my head... I couldn't stop swinging that pole if God himself stood in front of me and said to. He would just have to look on in envy. I was getting my pound of flesh from this fucktard one way or another.
So, there he lays, drunk and high after a few days on a bender. Going in and out of consciousness, either from lack of sleep or the drugs leaving his system. My sorry excuse for an ex. We had been together since I was eighteen ... five long years.
It wasn't bad in the beginning. He was older, and I thought he was more mature. It didn't take long for the drinking and drug use to become an issue. I would try to leave, and he would cry. He needed me. He was sorry. He would do better.
Then came the other women. I would soon become emotionally numb to that after the first few times I got pushed down on the floor for asking questions. Later it became normal to be held hostage in a bathroom or closet if I tried to leave or disagreed with him. I cooked his meal in a way he didn’t like. That deserved a drink in my face. I questioned where he was going? Got me locked in the closet for a few hours.
One day, five years after my hell on Earth started, he came in drunk, a common occurrence with him. Walking was almost impossible, much less putting up a fight. He fell on the bed, demanding food and sex. That was the last straw. It was like my psyche just snapped, and it wasn't me anymore... It was the crazy-ass, blood-seeking woman I knew I had to be. I found the wooden pole that he was going to use to prop the air conditioner up in the window. If you didn't know, some people live in trailers where the air conditioner is in the window a
nd held up with a pole. That way, the whole window doesn't come crashing down on the air conditioner. Those things are expensive as fuck! It was long and sturdy with little give. It was like the best present I'd ever received. A sign from the universe that his time had come.
So, I just did what everyone wanted to do. I didn't kill him, but I'm sure he wished he was dead. I beat every single inch of him till he was nothing but a purple splotch on the bed. I didn't stop till the pole broke. He was lucky I didn't shove that stick right up his small dicked ass. Then, I grabbed the handful of clothes I was allowed to wear, got in the hatchback, rolled down the windows, and drove till the sun came up...
That's how I got here. I’m starting over, but not somewhere new. I’m going back to where it all started and where my next life will begin.
Chapter One: Ayida
Stepping up on the porch of the old Victorian-style house is like stepping right back into my childhood. I haven't been home in five years. Mom passed away six years ago. I didn’t want to come back here, but where else do I have to go?
I steady my nerves and knock on the heavy door. I hear the shuffling and muffled words right before it swings open. Bright green eyes now sit in heavy wrinkles. He has aged hard.
"You sure have changed. You gonna come in or just stand there, letting the cold out?" That's my dad, straight to the point. Ex-Navy SEAL and still lives by the code. The smell of starched shirts and menthol cigarettes rush back to me like an old friend.
My mom had been my best friend. My only friend. When she died, it put so much pressure on Dad, and he tried to step up. It wasn't his fault he didn't know about teenage girls or children in general. He was in his 70s when Momma passed. He did the best he could, but I was a wayward teen anyway. It didn't take me long to run when he got his new "friend" to help around the house barely a year after.
So here I am now. "Hey, Dad. How is the RV business going?" My dad might be ex-Navy, but he could sell ice in the Arctic. It's not that he is nice or even friendly looking. The man is scarier than anything Freddy Krueger could come up with.
"It's going. Why ya asking? Writing a book?" Aww, he is being so sweet, definitely going better than I thought it would.
"Nope, just wondering. How about Trish? She still stealing checks and gambling away her disability checks?" That earns me a chuckle. Said chuckle about knocks me over in astonishment.
"Hell, if I know. Haven't seen that nasty cunt in a few years." He still cusses like a sailor, I see.
"Well, what are you here for? I know it's not just to see my pretty face. Did you finally grow a pair and leave that shit head? What's his name again?"
"Robert, Dad, and yeah I left him alright. Left him beaten and bleeding in the bed." Without any warning, I get a slap on the shoulder.
"There is that Underhill blood coming out! I knew it would eventually. So, was he breathing when you left, or did you finish him the way your Old Man would?”
Did I mention my dad had also been in prison? Nothing violent, just money laundering for the Mob in the 70s. His violent crimes never even saw a courtroom. He didn't leave enough evidence. Believe it or not, it's easier to cover up blood and bodies than it is dirty money. "Dad, he is alive and probably very sore... I just had to escape. That's why I'm here. I didn’t know where else to go. I know you have ways to keep him away, so I never have to see him again."
I'm doing my best imitation of a 7-year-old me. He was my hero my whole childhood. I didn't know about all his extra activities until my mom passed. He would ride me on the lawn mower, and we’d share a bag of peanuts while sitting by the pond on the back of our land. We would watch the ducks, and he would play the harmonica and smoke a menthol. It was a perfect childhood. Now he is standing in front of me, hunched over from old age and a bad back. He’s giving me that stink eye he gives people on the fence about buying an RV.
"Are you done this time? If I take you in and teach you everything I know, you can't go back. This is your final chance to start new. Make sure this is what you want." He rubs his big hands over his face and turns towards the kitchen. “Have you eaten? I was going to make some fry bread if you want some?" Talk about bringing back childhood memories. I stand at the island in the kitchen, and it's like I'm sucked back to 1999.
My dad, flouring the surface and getting ready to roll out the dough, gives me a toothy smile. Smells and sounds make my memories come to life. Have you ever smelled bread dough frying in a pan? It's fucking magical. It's also part of my dad's Native American heritage. He doesn't talk about it much, but his grandmother was Choctaw, and his grandpa was straight French Cajun. That helps explain how we share the dark wavy hair and his green eyes. The most significant difference is our skin tones.
Where he is like old leather, tan and wrinkled, I'm pale and pink. I guess that's the one thing I got from my mom beside her small nose. My aunt says that side of the family was mostly French and Irish. Lots of pale skin and blonde hair. I'm snapped out of my thoughts when a plate drops in front of me. Delicious fry bread covered in butter and syrup. Dad takes his heritage lightly. I think the Navy taught him to put enough sugar on something, and it'll be good. I’m shoveling it in my mouth faster than a whore getting paid by how many ounces she can swallow. Let me tell you a determined woman can take a lot of cum if the price is right.
I polish off my meal and look up, ready for battle. I am surprised when I see Old Man about to light up a joint. Some shit with Frank “Old Man” Underhill never changes. He takes a big pull, looks at me, and shrugs. "Hand it over, hard ass. I'm old enough now to share. I think we both need it for the conversation we're about to have." He grins, like I said he won the lottery, while passing it over and sitting down in the stool across from me.
I take a long drag and hold it. Letting it go, I finally feel calm enough to spill everything I need to. Here goes nothin’.
Chapter Two: Holder
Damn it! How do I always get picked for this shit? I mean yeah, I can hold my own in a fight, but so can the other fuckers.
Somehow, I get selected to babysit Old Man’s daughter. She has finally come out from wherever she has been hiding. Apparently, they think she needs watching, but I still don't know why.
“They” just happen to be the heads of the most powerful families running behind the scenes in New Orleans. You could call them the mob, or the mafia, or a gang. In reality, they are just a big family that has no qualms killing, selling drugs, laundering dirty money, or anything of the illegal sort. The Saupoudrer crime syndicate is their technical moniker. Old Man did his part back in the day. He cleaned up loose ends, even did eight years for running dirty money, and never opened his mouth. He has high standing with everyone in our community.
There is no one leader in this Family. We have several heads of families that make decisions and keep the peace. Old Man never had a son, so he stepped down and went into retirement, running his RV dealership, and flying under the radar. His daughter had been a kid then. He wanted her raised like we all were, but her mother was a sweet, easy-going woman without a mean bone in her body. So, he gave in, and they raised the girl on the up and up. Until the day, his old lady never woke up. They said a brain aneurysm in her sleep. It wrecked Old Man.
Everyone showed up at the funeral and paid their respects. I was 22 at the time and didn't pay much attention. I just remembered Old Man hunched over in the pew with his hands covering his face. That was six years ago, and no one had heard much from Old Man or his daughter. Rumor is that she ran off with an older guy after her mom passed, and never came back. Until now.
Old Man finally called in a favor. I still wasn't excited to be the one stuck watching a spoiled brat. She had to be. Anyone that would run away from everything Old Man gave her, and not even look back, was as spoiled as they come. I don't have a choice, though.
Do what you're told is rule one in this Family. Don't ask questions is rule two. Rule three is the easiest. Clean up all the blood and evidence. Anything else is pretty much open to int
erpretation. So here I sit in my car, trying to stay cool in this summer weather, and await the princess. I'm supposed to take the brat to the RV dealership and make sure she is okay while she learns all about cleaning money. Not how I wanted to spend my day.
I'm only waiting six minutes before the door to the house opens and a woman catches my attention. That can't be the spoiled daughter everyone has been talking about. Spoiled girls don't dress like that. Long curvy legs and a thick ass covered in dark gray ripped skinny jeans. A t-shirt that looks a bit small and seen better days hides her full tits. On better inspection, I can tell her top is a concert t-shirt, for the heavy metal band Anthrax. Some old ass Chuck Taylor high tops and huge, red, round sunglasses finish off her outfit. The thing that draws my attention the most is her hair.
Everyone was talking about how the girl looked just like the Old Man. This girl was anything but. Her hair hung to her waist in loose waves and in the most shocking, but beautiful, blue color.
She was making her way down the steps of the old house when I noticed she was munching away on something. Something messy.
Oh, dear God, there she goes! Falling into a split, one foot sliding down the stairs before the other can catch up. She makes a pained face while turning on to her side. I jump out of the car and rush to her, pretty sure she just slit her twat and asshole into one giant gash.
I hear her little gasped swears, so I know she is conscious. "Mother fuckin’ butt licker, son of a gottdamn donkey and monkey butt fuck!" Well, that was colorful.
"You okay there, Princess?" That earns me, what I'm guessing is, a dirty look. It's hard to tell with the huge sunglasses and hair over her face.
That's when I notice the creamy substance smeared on her face, hands, and the toast about 10 feet from us in the grass. "What the hell are you eating? Maybe that's why you pulled that gymnastics move. You really shouldn't be eating an actual meal while walking downstairs." She rips the sunglasses off her face, and I'm in shock. Her eyes are almond-shaped and soulful. A beautiful green with yellow speckled around her pupils. Even with all the beauty, she sure does look as mad as a honey badger right now. She inherited her dad's glare. The one that makes your blood run cold. The one that lets you know she has a lot of crazy behind the calm eyes.